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This Episode is a Rerun

It’s been nearly a month since my last post, and it’s going to be at least antoher week or two before my next one. In my childhood, summertime was time for reruns. Most of the time that meant playing outside, but once in a while an episode was totally worth viewing again. I hope that is the case with “The Lost Coin.”

“The Lost Coin” (Originally aired Oct 25, 2018)

You are a beloved child of God. He made you good and beautiful, in his own image and likeness. You are cherished by him, chosen by him, and precious to him. He desires your heart and longs for you to be intimately close to him. He doesn’t want your achievements and accomplishments; he wants you – all of you. His greatest joy, shared by the angels and saints in heaven, is when you turn to him with all your heart and receive his total and unconditional Fatherly love for you.

If you are like me, you know those truths on an intellectual and theological level, but struggle to believe them and receive them with all your heart. In our more reflective moments, we realize the magnitude of our sinful choices. We have damaged our relationships with God and others and self. We have become lost. There is, in the end, no denying that painful truth.

In the menacing shadow of our sinfulness, we fear that we are no longer lovable. Like Adam and Eve in the garden, we hide from love and protect ourselves. We minimize our struggle and our pain in the presence of others and of God. In resisting vulnerability, we “safely” block out the love that is being freely offered to us. Then we end up feeling even more alone and unloved, and the cycle of sin begins anew. In the depths of our heart we yearn to be loved for who we are, but in our fear of rejection we dare not dream that dream.

In the 300’s, Gregory of Nyssa offered a profound reflection on the parable of the Lost Coin in Luke 15. Gregory has to be one of the most overlooked and underappreciated Christian authors of all time. He was an intellectual giant in the fields of philosophy and theology. In an age that was much confused about the Trinity, he offered keen insight into how it is possible for God to be an eternal communion of love, three persons yet truly one God. Others were thinking in terms of separate substances; he was thinking in terms of relationship and an eternal communion of love. He “got it” about God.

He also really “got” the full truth of what it means to be human beings made in God’s image. He takes sin quite seriously, yet views our sinfulness as our condition. It is not who we are. It is not our identity. In our brokenness and distress, we tend to identify ourselves with our sins – but that is not how God sees us. We remain his precious children. The divine likeness that we bear is smeared and soiled, buried and hidden – yet remains what it always was. We are always God’s precious children.

That is where the image of the Lost Coin comes in. We are made in the likeness of God. Just as a coin is stamped with the image of the emperor or king, so are we stamped with God’s own likeness. Just as a coin is made from precious metal, so are we made “very good” in God’s design.

He entrusts us with a universe that is resplendent with truth and goodness and beauty. And we soil and tarnish it. By our own free choices, we choose lesser goods rather than real relationships, and we sully ourselves.

Yes, the shiny coin held proudly in God’s hands chooses to slip out and dive deeply into the muck. In its outward filth and stench, the coin becomes lost and barely recognizable for what it is. Yet inside it remains what it always was. In the words of Jesus, “The Kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21).

Without the grace of Jesus, we cannot recover that lost coin, that inner goodness and truth and beauty that is yet within us. Like the woman in the parable, we can find other coins. We can do good and grow in virtues. We can achieve and accomplish and serve. But, unaided by grace and faith, that one coin will always elude us. Only when we light the lamp of faith and call on the aid of Jesus can we find that lost coin.

Even though sin is secondary, its effects are very real. We will need the purifying grace to Jesus to cleanse the mire and filth that has covered over the coin. It can be quite painful to be vulnerable and surrender ourselves to that purification and cleansing. But then the inner beauty of the coin – always there and never really lost – shines forth once again. At its core it remains the precious metal that it always was. It has lost none of its true worth. It still bears the mark of the King of Kings.

As Luke tells us, the angels and saints are eagerly cheering us on. There is more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over all the others who (think they) have no need of repentance. The citizens of heaven yearn for those moments when the light of Christ breaks through, when we “come to our senses” like the prodigal son and surrender ourselves to our Father’s love. They erupt into joyful cheers when we once again believe the full truth about ourselves – that we are precious and beloved children of God, who belong in the house of our Father. Then the healing grace of Christ restores us, and his glory shines forth for all to see.

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Religion or Religiosity?

Religion isn’t exactly gaining popularity these days. Even though most people believe in God or some higher power, fewer and fewer people are willing to be associated with religion.

“I’m open to spirituality, but I don’t have any interest in religion.” I think some of us experience a visceral reaction when we hear such statements. However, rather than immediately perceiving a threat, rather than shifting to a posture of judgment or discouragement, it may behoove us to be curious and ask, “why?”

Why does this or that individual no longer want anything to do with religion? Each person has a story, and we can often be surprised by what we learn. However, they may not tell us the whole truth unless they really believe we are going to listen. If they intuitively sense contempt or condemnation, control or manipulation, they won’t feel safe enough to share their story (and who could blame them?).

Many of our families – including our church families – have been toxic and dysfunctional. Often, under the pretext of religion, we have been guilty of “religiosity.” As a result, many would-be Christians, some of them deeply hurt and betrayed, have decided they want nothing to do with religion. In many cases, it is not actually religion that they are rejecting (much less God himself), but a “religiosity” masquerading as religion. If so, in some cases the attempt to reject religion may actually be a step in the right direction! When a family becomes dysfunctional, the “black sheep” is sometimes the one with the highest level of personal integrity! For example, I think of that great scene in The Adventures of Huck Finn in which Huck chooses to be a “bad” Christian and to risk “going to hell” by doing the unthinkable and helping a slave escape.

What is “religion” anyway? I would invite everyone back to the root meaning of the word.  Religio in Latin comes from re-ligare: to “to re-bind” or “reconnect.” Authentic religion heals and restores our relationship with God, our relationship with each other, and our relationship with ourselves. It restores wholeness and integrity; it leads us into true and meaningful connection, intimacy, love, and unity. If it does not do those things, it is not authentic religion!

Notice that authentic religion is both objective and subjective, both real and relational. Many today (even Wikipedia!) make the mistake of viewing religion in purely subjectivist terms – as though religion is the product of our efforts to make meaning out of life and human existence. To be sure, seeking and finding meaning is incredibly important. It is God himself who placed that insatiable yearning into our hearts. Yet God is real, independent of human seeking and striving. He has really revealed himself, and he desires us to find fulfilment in our desire for him by being received into real relationship with him. Religion is ultimately initiated by him and freely responded to by us in the new and eternal Covenant.

On the flipside, in the name of “the truth” many Christians today have forgotten about the real relationships involved. Much like the Pharisees, they have slipped into religiosity, which becomes a distortion of authentic religion in a manner that turns people away from the living God.

I confess to Almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have often been guilty of “religiosity” in the name of religion. I have focused more on being right than on forming a deep and meaningful relationship with the person in front of me. I have focused more on trying to coax or convince others to do the “right” thing, rather than attuning to the deep desires of their hearts and noticing what God is doing there. I have held contempt toward those who disagree with me rather than practicing empathy and seeking to understand them deeply in their own story, and especially in their suffering. I have clung to resentments rather than entering into authentic grieving, which allows me to manifest God’s mercy from the depths of my heart.

There are some, in their clinging to religiosity and claiming to represent the Church, who have gone so far as to fixate on condemnation and hellfire in unwholesome ways. For them, the “Good News” becomes all about avoiding hell personally and then deciding which other people go there. Loving others means “saving” them by turning them away from hell by whatever means necessary: name-calling, fear-mongering, shaming, manipulating, or coercing.  Perhaps the greatest irony occurs when we Christians call ourselves “Pro-Life” and then engage in these behaviors that are so against the dignity of the human person, and so clearly against Jesus’ commandment to do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Who among us honestly desires others to call us names, to manipulate us, to coerce us, to shame us, or to motivate us by fear? These tactics are spiritual abuse. They are not religion. If we have ever engaged in them, may we repent and make amends!

Yes, hell is real, and the Good News is that I don’t have to live in hell anymore! We tend to think of hell and heaven as future realities, but they begin even now, already-but-not-yet. The humble person is willing to admit that his life has become a living hell, and that he cannot save himself. It is Good News indeed to discover an authentic path to freedom and peace, and to enter into real relationships through authentic religion (authentic “reconnecting” with the living God, restored relationships with others, restored integrity of oneself).

If our religion is real, our relationships will be thriving: the Trinity will dwell within each one of us ever more fully (as our desire increases daily); we will experince vibrant and joyful relationships with each other; we will manifest a deep respect for and rejoicing in the dignity of each human person; we will foster the unique flourishing of each culture; and our unity and love will be palpable. It will not be the bombastic unity of one person playing loudly and insisting that others join the refrain, but the stunning symphonic harmony of many diverse instruments, all conducted by Christ and each breathed into by the one Holy Spirit of God.

I repent of my religiosity and renew my desire to grow into real religion. Do you?

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Learning to Listen to Anger

It has become apparent to me that I have a hard time welcoming the human experience of anger and figuring out what to do with it. That becomes quite a setup for struggle and heartache – especially during years like this past one! As I look around and observe other humans all around me, I realize that I am not the only one having a hard time here.

Never mind that God created the emotion of anger; never mind that his Son Jesus was truly human and experienced anger without sinning. Many of us Christians feel a major “should” that warns us against anger – and then we find ourselves stuck.

Far too often I have avoided feeling or expressing my anger. It turns out that it doesn’t just go away by itself. Anger is experienced interiorly as an urgent call to action; it wants to do things! If we ignore it, much like rushing water, it insists on finding a path. It leaks out on others through sarcastic or shaming comments. It swirls around in resentment, pulling us and those around us down into the muck of self-pity. Or it propels us up to a pedestal of self-righteousness and judgment, from which we eagerly label “those people” as inferior to ourselves and cast blame on them for our misery. It’s all their fault! If only, if only, if only…

Resentment is an especially common way of not listening to our anger. As a wise man I know likes to say, we cling to our resentments; we hug them close and snuggle up with them. That sounds strange yet so true. It is easy to stay in a place of resentment because it doesn’t take any courage. In my resentments, I can identify myself as a victim. “That guy” or “those people” have caused all my problems, and I am powerless to do anything about it. That feels a whole lot safer to me, because it also means I cannot be held responsible – which in turn means I am entitled. Commiserate and gossip about “those people”? Don’t mind if I do! Think of witty labels for those who are causing all my problems? Sure, that will be fun! Binging on comfort food or sugar? Yes, please! Avoiding important tasks that will actually make the world a better place? Hey, if you were suffering as much as I, you would understand!  You get the idea…

Many of us, especially if we have highly empathic hearts, may find that our anger turns inward and erodes us from the inside out. Enter anxiety, depression, or an assortment of bodily illnesses. We can’t bear the thought of showing our anger to others, so we allow it to consume us from the inside. For some reason we find it okay to pour contempt onto our own human dignity, telling ourselves we are being kind to others by holding it in. Only our anger leaks out anyway, and others don’t much care to be around us in those moments.

What can one do?? Clearly, just putting our anger in the driver seat is not recommended. Aggression and violence cause harm to self and others – whether the overt violence of interrupting, shouting, raging, or assaulting; or the more subtle forms of violence such as the silent treatment, sarcasm, gossip, or passive aggression. They all harm and rupture our relationships. They all result from not truly tending to our anger, not learning to listen to it.

Instead, we can see our anger as a God-given warning signal, an invitation to be curious and pay attention, a call to receive the care we need and to work for the justice and peace that Christ came to bring.

Our anger always has something to tell us – although if we listen deeply and empathically, the full message may surprise us. So often what we think is the problem is not really the problem. The thing we think we are so resentful about is actually just the tip of the iceberg – to borrow an image from Mark & Debbie Laaser. If I am really telling the truth to myself, the thing I feel angry about right now – as frustrating as it may be – is actually so painful because I am feeling the same way I felt way back when – and that causes a strong reaction within me. The anger reaction is a call to action warning me of danger – that if I don’t do something, I will feel just as terrified, just as sad, or just as alone and abandoned as I did back then. Instead of “should-ing” away my anger (which never works), I can invite Jesus to join me in listening to it and revealing to me where I most need his love and truth.

In some cases, listening to my anger makes me aware that I am guarding deep and scary places of my heart – reservoirs of unshed tears and grief, tremors of fear or terror, or perhaps even stronger and older anger over harm experienced that was far worse than the injustice presently bothering me. If I allow Jesus to take me into (and back from) those places, my anger becomes the fuel on a journey of retrieving all these broken fragments and becoming a whole person capable of both mercy and justice in the present moment. I begin to know who I truly am and what I deeply desire, and I can be strong in the face of present evils, without needing to “power up” in aggression against others, nor to shrink and hide my true self or let others trample upon me.

Sometimes our anger needs to be expressed. It can be interesting to notice our anger and ask it what it wants to do. Curious asking is quite different from acting out – and if we are in a posture of curiosity and kindness, there is no real risk. Does our anger want to scream? Does it want to smash or break something? Does it want to throw things? Kick or hit or pound? Isn’t it interesting how many different nuances our anger can have? Often noticing what our anger wants to do helps us also to get down to its original root and receive the care that we have needed for a long time.

We can also allow our anger to express itself, giving it healthy outlets, allowing it to pass out of our bodies so that we can be released of it. If we think creatively, there are all kinds of ways for our anger to do what it wants to do while honoring human dignity. As long as we are not harming others or self or damaging personal property, pretty much anything goes.

This is all so counter-intuitive for those of us who have been conditioned to view our anger as “bad.” Far from causing harm, when we take ownership of our anger, allow ourselves to feel it and acknowledge it, and listen empathically to it, we actually gain the freedom to be released from its grip. Our anger does not actually want to be in the driver’s seat – it is crying out for attention and help. When it actually gets heard and taken seriously, it will gladly step out aside and allow the Wisdom of God to take over.

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The Cloak of Bartimaeus

The cloak of Bartimaeus is a curious detail in the Gospel of Mark (see Mark 10:46-52).  The blind man throws it aside as he springs up and rushes to Jesus. He never goes back to retrieve his cloak. Healed of his blindness, he joins with Jesus and his disciples as they leave town.

What ever became of that cloak? How did he come by it in the first place? How long had he had it? Why did he leave it behind as he followed Jesus? And why does Mark even bother to mention it? Little details like these matter – especially when reading the shortest of the four Gospels. Mark mentions the cloak as a detail because he is trying to teach us something.

“Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me!”

It is intriguing that Bartimaeus cries out “have mercy on me!” – in Greek, eleison me – echoing ancient liturgical words quite familiar to Catholics and Orthodox, who chant Kyrie Eleison at the beginning of our Sunday liturgy, as we call to mind our sins and ask Jesus to have mercy on us. It is interesting that many translations prefer to say “have pity on me” – which isn’t entirely wrong, but tends to reduce this story to a simple physical healing of a blind man. Rather, Bartimaeus’ healing is far more comprehensive than regaining physical sight. Whatever the cause of Bartimaeus’ physical blindness may have been, Mark wants us to know that this man was deeply wounded by sin and its effects.

He is a beggar in Jericho, a city readily associated with sin. It was the city in the Old Testament that Joshua had conquered and annihilated because of its depravity. It was the city chosen by Zacchaeus as his base of operations when he was a shameless and shiftless tax collector exploiting the poor.  It gains mention in the Good Samaritan parable, which many in the early Church saw as telling the story of the Fall and Redemption. The “man” in the story represents all of humanity – choosing to distance himself from God’s city of Jerusalem and descending the slope towards Jericho. Already on a bad path, he is then beaten by robbers, who leave him for dead. In that interpretation (almost universal among the early Church Fathers) Jesus is the Good Samaritan who is moved with compassion and hoists up our hurting humanity, anoints our wounds, and entrusts us to the care of the inn (i.e., the Church!) until he comes again to make all debts right.

The cloak of Bartimaeus is so much more than a cloak. It represents a way of life for him – how he had learned to cope and survive in an existence devoid of intimacy, connection, kindness, or care. He was a beggar, yes, but (one can easily imagine) a highly manipulative and cunning beggar who knew how to take advantage of people and get what he wanted without making any actual connections or commitments.

Instead of real relationships, Bartimaeus had his cloak. It kept him warm – warm enough anyway. It wasn’t the warmth of hearth and home, but it was enough to survive and endure. More importantly, he could hide himself in his cloak, staying isolated physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I imagine that, most of the time, he did not want to be seen. Whatever scraps of pleasure he could manage to carve out for himself, he could then indulge in secretly. His cloak was perhaps the closest thing he had to a friend. His life was not one that knew much by way of nurture of soothing. In his cloak, he managed to find fleeting moments of comfort and safety.  I can only imagine, over time, how dilapidated and disgusting his cloak became. But up to that day, it had been his most loyal companion. How many times had other people betrayed him or harmed him, rejected him or abandoned him? His cloak would not do that! It was predictable, even if it was only a surrogate – even if it was providing less and less authentic comfort or warmth.

How astounding it is that Bartimaeus cries out – repeatedly – “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me!!” He makes himself so vulnerable. He risks more mocking and rejection.  Apparently he had decided that he had nothing more to lose. He was ready to risk it all.

It is even more remarkable to me that he leaves his cloak behind – even before Jesus heals him. He recognizes that the cloak – his loyal and faithful companion – is actually an obstacle to real connection. It has hindered him from receiving and will continue hindering if he doesn’t change his ways. More importantly, a desire so intense and deep is welling up in his heart – so strong that it overflows and overpowers his “settling” for survival. He wants to be well!  He intuits that Jesus can give him more – so much more. No doubt, he also hears the whispers of his cloak – warning him that he is making a fool of himself, gently enticing him to hide himself away once again and return to the safety of self-protection. But desire wins the day. Bartimaeus not only cries out all the louder; he actually casts aside his cloak and runs up to Jesus. He wants to see. Jesus heals him. He begins following Jesus.

As is so often the case in the Gospels, we don’t hear “the rest of the story.” I am enough of a student of human nature (including my own) to know that Bartimaeus’ following of Jesus in “The Way” was very likely NOT a linear journey, nor a “one and done” moment of salvation. Rather, it was likely a long and arduous transformational journey of conversion, including shining moments of freedom and triumph as well as plenty of other moments of stumbling and shame. We need only look at Peter and the other disciples to appreciate how long and complex the journey of conversion is.

If you are like me, I imagine that you can relate to the cloak of Bartimaeus! Like Adam and Eve with their fig leaves, it sometimes feels safer to isolate and self-protect rather than to surrender ourselves totally into the hands of the living God.

The invitation to Adam and Eve, the invitation to Bartimaeus, and the invitation to you and me is the same invitation captured beautifully in the erotic love poetry found in Song of Songs Chapter 5. The bride has cast off her cloak and pursues intimacy with her beloved. She will not put her cloak back on when he is inviting her to be one flesh with him! These images of vulnerability and intimacy are mere foretastes of the ultimate invitation God offers to each of us in Jesus. He desires to heal every rupture and restore true intimacy and eternal communion with him and with each other, in a way that will satisfy every ache and longing of our hearts.

What does your cloak look like and feel like? Where in your life do you find yourself hiding or isolating, pulling away from relationships, or preferring the predictable comfort and safety of self-soothing or self-protection? How do you feel about casting aside your cloak and running vulnerably to Jesus to be healed? Do you want to be well?  Do you trust that the healing, love, and communion offered by Jesus will be enough?

Perhaps we need time to grapple with these questions. The Lord honors our freedom, and does not arouse our desire until we are ready (cf. Song of Songs 8:4). When we are ready, we can cast aside our cloak and run to the bridegroom!

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Learning to Saunter

Have you ever had that experience of always assuming you knew what a word meant, only to discover that it actually bears quite a different meaning?

I had one of those moments with the word “saunter.” I had encountered it often in books, usually with the same phraseology: “He sauntered in.”  To me, in context, it always felt synonymous with “strutted,” and I never bothered to look the word up.

But one day I was on vacation, a guest at the home of friends, reading one of those life-coaching plaques in their home (I’ll leave it to your imagination to guess which room of the house it was in).   The plaque gave dozens of tidbits of advice for joyful living.

One of those sage counsels was “Saunter aimlessly.” It didn’t seem to fit with the rest of the phrases on the plaque. “Strut aimlessly”??  I suddenly found myself hearing the admonition of Inigo Montoya:

“You keep using that word – I do not think it means what you think it means…”

So I got out my dictionary. Actually, let’s be honest – I got out my smart phone, which is ironic, because the smart phone is quite possibly one of the greatest disrupters of sauntering in all of human existence.  But it gets the job done as a dictionary. The scales fell from my eyes as I read the following:


saun·ter
/ˈsôn(t)ər/
verb
1. walk in a slow, relaxed manner, without hurry or effort.

It was so much more than an “aha!” moment. It was one of those divine taps on the shoulder. Perhaps I had misunderstood this vocabulary word all my life because I am not so skilled at sauntering.

Well actually, that’s not entirely true. Deep down, my heart LOVES to saunter. Have you seen those Family Circus installments that trace little Billy’s meanderings with a dotted line? I definitely have a little child inside that absolutely delights in sautnering – exploring the nooks and crannies of God’s creation in a spirit of curiosity, awe, and adventure. But many other parts of me rise up to squelch that childlike longing.

My workaholic and perfectionistic tendencies don’t tend to leave space for little Derek to saunter. I experience restless urges within me – an urge to “get caught up,” and urge to be constantly productive, and an urge to meet the impossible expectations of others. My inner critic warns me that there is no time for such childish pursuits. If I stop to smell the roses, an inner alarm goes off, warning me to move on to the next thing or raising my internal level of guilt about being selfish or lazy.

I apparently did not know the meaning of the word “saunter” during my four years living in Italy, but it was often right there in front of me. I recall feeling frequently annoyed at the locals, stuck behind them as they strolled aimlessly down the sidewalk – on those few Roman streets that are actually wide enough to have sidewalks. Somehow one Italian could effectively block an eight-foot wide space, always walking down the middle, often smoking a cigarette, and veering randomly to the left or the right as they sauntered along without a care in the world. Italians are not exactly known for efficiency or industriousness, especially the further south one goes. There I was, descended from neurotic Northern Europeans – and even among my own people bearing a legendary reputation for productivity and overachieving. Needless to say, I did not blend in, nor did I try to. I found ways to beat the system and accomplish the tasks I felt driven to do – but not without resentment and frustration. I could have learned some lessons from those Italians.

In truth, we cannot live as humans without sauntering sometimes. Our ultimate purpose in life is to abide with the Lord forever. Each one of us carries deep within us a yearning for rest. If we do not honor that yearning, it will find ways to express itself – often in fruitless fantasies or mindless escapes that do not actually refresh us.

Desiring our happiness and wellbeing, God commands us to engage in Sabbath rest. He rests on the seventh day and invites us to participate in his rest. Easier said than done!

I remember the summer of 1995, at the end of my freshman year of college. I felt a conviction that, as a student, my labor was academic – which means observing Sunday as a day of rest from my studies. I made the decision not to do homework on the Lord’s Day. I thought it would be incredibly hard to “get my work done” without utilizing Sunday. I was wrong there. Those adjustments proved easy to make, and helped me be more intentional about my time the rest of the week. There was no challenge academically. Rather, what surprised me was how exceedingly difficult it proved to spend the newly found time on Sunday in real rest and rejuvenation. I found my heart restless as it tried to indulge in various kinds of entertainment or pleasure.  My prayer felt scattered and distracted. It surprised me that rest could be so hard!

I remember a similar restlessness on many of my retreats over the years – worrying about “doing it right.” I eventually learned that the Lord would bless me regardless, and now I cherish my retreat days each year. They are one of the rare times in the year that I seem to feel greater freedom to saunter. At so many other times, there is something inside of me that seeks to sabotage authentic rest. It doesn’t feel safe to be blessed and to receive. There is a vulnerability in it that is so wonderful and so terrifying at the same time.

I think “sauntering” can be even harder for me, because sauntering still includes a certain sense of movement and purposefulness, albeit in a more carefree manner.  I tend to set myself up with impossible tasks and then always feel in a hurry, always under stress. I walk fast. I drive fast. I plow through tasks. I am disciplined and driven. In that setup, there is little permission to move at a slower pace, to welcome interruptions as opportunities to receive, to wonder at and delight in the amazing beauty that surrounds me.

These moments of sauntering, puttering, meandering – whatever the right term is – are so essential for me to feel safe, to be open and receptive, to notice and to care, to be in awe and to wonder, to learn, to grow, to be generous, to appreciate, to be grateful, to affirm and encourage others, and to praise God. I am so much less human if I do not allow space for sauntering in my life.

Thankfully beauty often breaks through in spite of my defenses. It sneaks in the back door and catches me by surprise.  At those moments I have a choice to make. Will I rush on to the next thing and miss an opportunity to abide with the one who loves me so much? Or will I be kind to myself, allowing myself to take in the goodness and beauty, to savor it, to delight in it, and to praise the God who gives such good gifts?

Jesus, teach me to “saunter aimlessly” and to learn to be at peace when I do so.

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Another Spiritual Communion Prayer

This summer, I shared a Spiritual Communion Prayer with you. Today I share another one, much shorter. It allows the opportunity to state a specific need to Jesus. Even though our Good Father knows what we need much more profoundly than we do, there is no question that he invites us to ask for graces in a very particular way, opening our hearts to him like little children. This prayer hopefully assists some of us in doing so, opening up space to receive from a God who is so eager to bless his children:

Jesus, my Lord and my God, I consecrate myself freely and wholeheartedly to you. I depend completely upon you to heal me and save me. I invite you into my heart today. You teach us that all things are possible for God, and invite us to ask our Father for good gifts. Jesus, today, there is one thing, in particular, that I especially ask your help with. I take a few moments now in silence to name that need to you: ____________________.  In union with your offering on the Cross, I now open my heart and surrender myself totally into the Father’s hands.  Amen.